Write from your heart. It is an act, of love.

Okay. Nasty pizza please. And a super sized coke. Then some high quality purple haze. And a super sized water. An indica. Not a sativa. Then, a walk in a park with flowers. And maybe, I’ll hold your hand. And hug you.

I got 1/2 on the marijuana. I still can’t bring myself to make a man pay for everything. I haven’t done that. So I’m not familiar with it. And I’m not sure I want to be. It’s a form of dependency. And while i’m not rich. Not even close. I get exactly what beyoncé’s discussing.

I will dig graves (done — literally), before I will rely on anyone else to support me. I make my own money. And I will not hide behind abused and marginalized children, online, to make it off other marginalized women — a diversity of them — and their words

I will put them behind me. So that when the shots ring? This is what will happen.

Your children, are safe with me. I will give my life, to protect them.

I gotta listen to this, to keep at bay the insanity, at all the abuse and injustice hip hop has watched. And instead of helping? Made profit. I am so glad for the ol school, that remembers its roots. I stay firmly grounded in them. My roots and my beginnings.

This is not what hip hop is, ya’lls super capitalist profit off of marginalized people. And your hoe moment living. And dead black boys, at Ferguson.

It’s the opposite.

Hip hop was a creation of survival. By the most marginalized kids in America. Innocent children. Who made free play? A worldwide movement.

And yes. I am an independent woman. 1/2 of everything. Right down the middle.

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